


children of dust and ashes

by LittleMissBlitz



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy
Genre: Angst, F/F, I Made Myself Cry, I'm Sorry, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Modern AU, One Shot, This is super sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-13 19:13:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12990690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleMissBlitz/pseuds/LittleMissBlitz
Summary: marya didn't expect it to happen like this.





	children of dust and ashes

**Marya POV:**

My lungs feel like they're burning.

I open my eyes, and already I can tell that something is very, very wrong. I can hear something crackling. I can feel how hot the room is. That's when the black smoke starts creeping under the door. 

I'm wide awake now, using my night shirt to cover my nose and mouth. I reach over to Helene, shaking her with my hand. She makes some sort of noise of discontent, rolling over. I shake her harder, and she lets out another little whine but opens her eyes.

"Masha, wh-" she begins, and then she sees the smoke. "Holy fuck…"

"We have to get out of here," I tell her, feeling the panic starting to set in.

Her bedroom doesn't have windows. It's the only one in the house that doesn't. Helene likes it because she can only really sleep when it's totally dark, and if she sleeps in, she doesn't like the sun coming in through the window. 

"Can we get out through the door?" she asks, taking my cue and using her nightgown to cover her own nose and mouth.

The smoke is really starting to fill the room now, and I crouch down to the ground, crawling so as not to inhale any more smoke than I need to.

"Lenka, get down," I instruct her.

She does as I tell her to, getting out of the bed and sinking to the floor. She seems to realize what a bad situation this is, and I realize that it's even worse when I touch the knob. It's hot to the touch. The fire could be right on the other side of this door.

"Are we trapped in here?" I hear her ask meekly, her voice already becoming hoarse.

"It's alright," I say, moving back across the carpet to her. Smoke is rising, but it's starting to close in on us. "The fire department is on its way, I'm sure."

"B-But the alarm didn't go off," she answers, voice shaking now. 

"They'll come," I repeat, but I'm almost sure it's a lie.

She must accidentally breathe in smoke, because then she's coughing, and it makes my panic worsen as I take her by the hands, waiting for it to stop. 

"You should lay down," I tell her.

She nods, not saying a word, and lays her head down in my lap. 

I know that we're both going to pass out soon, and if no one comes, we'll die here. This isn't ever how I pictured this going. If it was going to be something jolting, it'd be a car crash or a heart attack or something, or if I was lucky, I'd die in old age of Alzheimer's. This is slow. Painful. Tragic. Especially when the person I love is dying in my arms.

I have to tell her.

The smoke is getting gradually thicker, and I know it won't be long now before I lose consciousness. Now is the time to tell her, before one of us passes out, but as I look down at her, I realize that she already has. I let a choked cry escape my lips, and I begin to run fingers through her curls, tears running down my cheeks.

"I… I love you," I choke out. "Lenka…"

My throat hurts, and my vision is going fuzzy. I lean down, pressing a kiss to her forehead, and then I lean back against the edge of the bed, letting the darkness overtake me.

***

I'm not dead.

How am I not dead?

I wake up in a hospital room, something under my nose to help me breathe. I take in a deep breath, still feeling the pain in my throat but happy to be breathing fresh air. I can't help but feel overwhelmed with relief. We made it. We're not dead. I hear the door open, and I know it must be her. It just has to be. But it's not. It's Anatole and Fedya. 

Anatole's eyes are all red and puffy, and he looks disheveled. Fedya holds his hand, certainly crestfallen. Something has happened. Something terrible. They come and sit beside me, and Anatole reaches a hand out to place on my arm, still looking sad. 

"You're awake," he says quietly. "That's good."

"Yes, of course I'm awake," I reply. "I'm fine. Where… where is Lenka?"

It's like the words break Anatole, and he collapses into Fedya, tears running down his cheeks. He buries his face into Fedya's shoulder, and a few tears roll down Fedya's cheeks as well as he plants a kiss on the top of Anatole's head. Then, he looks back up at me, and I can feel the panic rising in my chest.

"Is she still asleep? I-Is she hurt? Oh, God, tell me she's not hurt," I plead with him, my words stringing together as a lump forms in my throat. 

When he shakes his head, I can see that it's something far worse.

"Masha," he whispers. "I'm… I'm so sorry. She's…"

He can't bring himself to say it, and I feel my resolve breaking. My hope flickers out as I see how distraught he really is.

"She's gone, Masha," he says finally, his voice choked.

I can't contain the cry that escapes my lips, clamping a hand to my mouth and shaking my head frantically. She can't be dead. She can't be. She hasn't met my family yet. I haven't met hers. Not her parents, anyway. We had plans to go to Paris. We were going to wander the streets together. Get coffee in a little Parisian coffee shop. Paris has been on the top of her bucket list since she learned how to say 'charming' in an (albeit terrible) French accent. We had plans, and we had a future. I loved her. Now she'll never know.

Fedya looks like he wants to reach out to me, to hug me, to console me, anything. I wave him off, reaching a hand up to claw at my neck as though that will make the lump go away, as though that will stop me from crying. As though if I stopped crying, she would come back to me.

"Sh-She can't be… She can't…" I manage, trying to breathe through my tears.

"Masha-" he begins tearfully, and Anatole is looking at me now, too, his big blue eyes glistening with tears.

" _Please!_ " I practically scream. "I loved her! She can't be gone… She…"

It's not working. No one is telling me that this has all been an elaborate joke. No one stops crying. She doesn't walk through the door with that smug look on her face, her lips curled into that beautiful smirk she always wears. She's not giving me some clever quip about how she thinks the hospital food tastes like shit and how she can't wait to go home and eat the shit food that I make. She's not there, and everyone is crying, and I feel everything and nothing all at once. 

"Leave," I whisper, the tears not stopping as hard as I try to wipe them away. "Please."

And they do.

I don't stop crying.

I wish I could stop crying. 

I wish I could hold her just one last time.

I wish a lot of things, but none of them can happen.

Not now that she's gone.


End file.
